And maybe to church, what.

Entrenched in a cocoon of my own mucus. Every bit as pleasant as it sounds, trust. Earlier in the week, Randy would simply kick my snoring husk to roll me over in the middle of the night; he's since graduated to actually waking me up in order to deliver a three paragraph essay on how much worse my snoring is now than it was, and hence why I should start sleeping with bubble wrap in my mouth. Tonight I'm going to really turn it on, I've decided, no more Nyquil / Benadryl cocktails. Let's move this party in the opposite direction, let's see how fucking loud this shit can go.

And this morning Randy stopped me in the middle of pulling my green South District grocery store tee shirt over my head; apparently the amount of toothpaste smeared down the front was way past acceptable levels.

"Absolutely not," he said, kicking it into the laundry, "I meant to say something Friday at the Verizon store. And I definitely shouldn't have let it slide yesterday."

I still don't see what the big deal was, I was just going to the grocery store and the mall.

I love this: Chewbacca-- the Bringer of the Noise.

And a robot squid with a boombox.